


I Know I Was A Lot Of Things [But I Am Good, I Am Grounded]

by wearenotsaints



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Implied Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, M/M, OT5 Friendship, Protective Louis, Recreational Drug Use, WWA Tour, and everyone loves Louis, but really Louis loves everyone, even if he's an ass, post weedgate, suprisingly this isnt slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearenotsaints/pseuds/wearenotsaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He never meant for it to end up like this. Doesn't think anyone would believe him if he said it out loud.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where the backlash of the weed video turns out to be more than Louis had been anticipating and sometimes he doesn't think before he acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know I Was A Lot Of Things [But I Am Good, I Am Grounded]

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from I Need My Girl by The National
> 
> Liberties taken since I did start working on this before all the details were released. In case people don't know, this is a work of fiction, I own nothing.
> 
> Also I am not british--and while I have Irish blood in me, I did not grow up in either of my Motherlands--and as a result, writing dialogue is painful for me. Niall please forgive me. Along with the rest of you :] 
> 
> Lemme know what cha think
> 
> xx

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Zayn asks, sparking his Zippo to life and bringing it up to the end of his fourth cigarette, “It’s a bit of a big gamble, Lou.”

 

He’s leaned up against the far side of one of the buses; Louis found him here 20 minuets ago and it’s still early enough for the few fans milling about the barriers to be spread thin.

 

“Do you trust me?” Louis questions back, lifting the cigarette from Zayn’s slackened grip and taking a drag.

 

“O‘course.” Zayn answers without missing a beat. His eyes are closed, head resting on the cold metal siding and Louis thinks fleetingly about how Zayn’s eyelashes look like ink smudges from this distance.

 

“Then trust me with this.” And Zayn nods, smiles sloppily when Louis places the smoke back between his lips and leaves without a proper goodbye.

 

+

 

The thing is, the video wasn’t supposed to get leaked the day it did. Not directly on the heels of Niall’s charity event. It was never meant to overshadow all the hours and energy the Irishman had put into executing something so selfless; so human. But Louis learned long ago that he couldn’t count on people to keep their word like he once could. It doesn’t help that Louis’ always been a touch selfish; usually when he thinks he’s right. He has no doubt that he’s right in this. He’s always been a betting man in the name of justice. It just sucks that Niall got caught in the crosshairs.

 

“Fuck you,” Liam hisses at him on the car ride over to Modest! Headquarters, “You absolute fucking cunt,” He continues and though Louis’ never been particularly scared of Liam, he’s also never had so much of Liam's anger directed solely at him.

 

“Liam,” Niall cuts in, his tone flat, and Louis hasn’t been able to get his younger bandmate to look him in the eyes all morning, “Leave it, yeah.”

 

Liam shakes his head and it comes off more as a full-bodied thing, one that has Louis shifting further away despite himself. Liam’s clearly livid. His whole frame thrumming with the emotion, as though it doesn’t quite know how to settle on his skin.

 

“Niall,” Liam breathes and it sounds too much like a whine.

 

“Stop,” Harry’s voice interjects from the back of the van, a sharp edge to it. The kind he hardly ever uses, and he might be talking to Liam but his eyes are on Louis, “Niall said drop it, so. Drop. It.”

 

Under the scrutiny of Harry’s gaze, Louis finds himself wishing for the first time since everything went down, that he could simply disappear. Or maybe take it all back. Because Harry’s finally looked up from his phone long enough to acknowledge what’s going on in their makeshift world and Louis is acutely aware of how strained— _majorly fucked up_ , would work too—everything between him and Harry has been lately. How the two of them have left the others to pick up the heavy amount of slack and that’s yet another nail in the coffin Louis’ built for himself.

 

“Whatever.” Liam huffs and he ducks away when Zayn reaches out to touch him. They spend the rest of the ride in uneasy silence and Louis’ starting to feel like maybe he really didn’t think any of this through after all.

 

+

 

Management tells Zayn and him, separately and then together, that the lawyers are handling everything. That they are not to tweet or mention the incident in any way shape or form and that the Instagram portion of shows will be put on hold for as long as it takes for things to blow over. They are also ordered to turn in any drug paraphernalia they have to Paul as soon as they get back to the hotel.

 

Louis hasn’t felt this ashamed since he and Stan got caught cutting class in Year Ten. It irks him in more ways than one, how he’s 22 and still being treated as though he’s 14. He’d have stayed at home if he knew this was how everything would end up.

 

“What ‘bout our team?” Zayn asks, whirling around in the doorway they’ve just been escorted through, voice raising an octave. There’s a moment where everyone stops shuffling papers and gathering their briefcases to look at them. Louis knows he’s probably the only one who catches the way Zayn’s voice almost breaks, the slight tremor of his hands by his sides. Louis instinctively takes a step closer to the taller man, closing ranks in the familiar way they’ve all adopted over the past four years.

 

“That’s none of your concern, Mr. Malik. We’ve taken care of any…lose ends,” One of the suits replies, eyebrow arched like a threat, “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got quite the mess to clean up.”

 

It’s then that Louis realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he’s most likely cost a handful of people their jobs. He looks at Zayn, mouth partially agape and doesn’t protest when Paul tugs them both out further into the hall.

 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Zayn chants quietly beside him as they stumble after Paul to the elevators and Louis feels off kilter, like he’s just stepped ashore after a long time at sea, “We did this,” Zayn adds after the lift doors close behind them, eyes wild and unfocused, “We fucked up, Lou. We fucked up big,” And Louis, who has always been able to come up with words—lies specifically—on the fly, can’t think of anything to make this okay.

 

Paul’s expression when he looks at them isn’t anger so much as it is tiredness and…disappointment. It cuts more than if he had yelled at them too, and Louis remembers the way his mother used to give him that look, right after his father left and he began acting out in an attempt to keep the feelings from suffocating him.

 

He never meant for it to end up like this.

 

Doesn’t think anyone would believe him if he said it aloud.

 

+

 

 

“Why’d you do it anyway?” Harry asks, curled up in the window seat of Louis’ room, green eyes on the stretch of city lights bleeding into the night sky below.

 

He was there when Louis let himself in after the meeting with management. _More like a verbal lashing_ , Louis had thought as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway, violence itching below the skin of his palms where he’d nearly cut into them with his fingernails. Harry had tapped away on his phone while Louis changed into trackies and an old shirt of Liam’s, before he’d turned it off and thrown it onto the foot of the bed. As though he was making a show of it. As though he was giving Louis some gift in the form of his full attention. Louis’d felt insulted, but he took it anyway.

 

Again, he’d always been selfish.

 

Louis shrugs at Harry’s question, his laptop too hot across his thighs and he stalls a bit longer by pulling a pillow away from the headboard and across his lap, adjusting his computer there once he’s comfortable. He’s skimming articles about their— _his_ —latest transgression; the headlines simultaneously making him snort and want to be sick all over the keys. He hasn’t even touched Twitter yet, might be a little scared to. But there’s no way in hell he’s going to tell Harry that.

 

“I asked you a question, Louis.” Harry reprimands with a sigh and Louis knows that if he looks over there will be frown lines at the corner of Harry’s mouth. As of late, they’ve become far too familiar.

 

“I dunno. Was just bein’ daft I guess,” Louis answers with another shrug. He’s been doing that a lot today, figures he’ll be doing it a lot more in the coming weeks. And this is what Louis does; adopts a nonplussed air, as though he can’t be fucked. Particularly when things got heavy; self-preservation or something. _They can’t hurt you if you seem indifferent._

 

“Please don’t lie to me,” Harry says, voice low and soft—so different from how it was earlier in the van, or how it’s been for the past six months—that Louis’ chest begins to ache with the memories it conjures up.

 

“I…” Louis starts to say, stops, runs his fingers through his hair and tries to find the words that will make Harry understand. Because he used to be able to tell Harry things with a glance or the quirk of his lips, but they haven’t spoken that way in ages and Louis’ terrified that Harry’s no longer fluent.

 

That he isn’t either.

 

It’s just another fact Louis’ added to the list of things he hates about his life— _their_ life—the fame: the constant spotlight and stifling hero worship.

 

He leaked the video because he’s sick of the way people seem to have forgotten that they’re human.

 

He leaked it because the bags beneath Liam’s eyes were still prominent despite the makeup Lou caked on; because Niall woke him up once to tell him he’d forgotten his only nephew’s name, that he’s terrified Theo won’t remember his; because Zayn has had to push his publicity stunt of a wedding back time after time and doesn’t know if it’ll happen at all; because Harry jets off to LA during breaks and the photos that surface show a man with hollow cheekbones and dead eyes, someone none of them recognize.

 

Louis leaked the video because he promised to protect them, whatever the cost.

 

“I had to.” Louis finally says, blue eyes boring into Harry’s, willing— _begging, really_ —for him to understand. Harry stares back, unblinking, before he nods and unfolds his legs from beneath him. Louis looks away then, afraid that Harry still doesn’t get it. That he’s going to leave, but then the mattress dips and when Louis breathes in, he can taste the sharp citrus of Harry’s shampoo. Feels with every one of his senses when Harry molds around his body like a parenthese. Louis lets himself relax into the embrace with an uneasy exhale, curves his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and holds him there.

 

It’s been a while since they last did this and it’s a small victory at most, but Louis’ll always take what he can.

 

+

 

“I don’t hate you.”

 

Liam’s voice startles Louis out of his thoughts. He’s sitting— _okay, maybe hiding out_ —on the bungalow roof and he’d been so sure no one would find him. They’re here for the week, a quick reprieve between legs of the tour, and even though its been planned for ages, Louis knows they’re only here together because Harry fought for it.

 

“I just, sometimes…why do you make it so hard to love you?” Liam blurts out, his tone bordering on hurt and Louis doesn’t want to look at him. Because _how the fuck_ is he supposed to answer that? _What_ does Liam _want_ him to _say_?

 

People have been asking Louis things like that for as long as he can remember; from his father, to the girls in the few relationships he’s strung together, and most recently— _most painfully_ —Harry.

 

It’s not like Louis does it on purpose, he just doesn’t know anything else.

 

He blanches slightly, fingertips digging into the gritty surface of the tile roof, and maybe Liam meant it rhetorically because suddenly he’s hoisting himself through the bathroom window—a feat Louis finds impressive given how much Liam’s grown since the last time they were here—and settles down beside him. They’re almost touching but not quite; Louis can feel the heat of Liam’s skin, smell the lavender detergent Anne stocks the bungalow with, and below that, the fresh woodsy scent that is Liam himself.

 

Louis thinks vaguely about how he hasn’t been close to Liam like this in a while.

 

“Christ, Lou,” Liam says around a pained laugh, tipping his head back in the process, “You also make me want to try. Like, proper hard too.” His profile is sharp against the backdrop of trees to the right when Louis cuts him a quick glance,

 

“Even when I royally fuck it all up?” Louis dares to ask, something like hope catching in his chest.

 

“Especially when you fuck up,” Liam answers genuinely, the first smile the Doncaster man has seen in days, edging its way across the other’s face. And Louis finds he’s in serious danger of crying when Liam scoots closer, slings an arm around his shoulders and drops a kiss to the side of his head, getting a mouthful of hair in reward. Louis swears Liam mutters something about how stupid this ‘long hair don’t care’ bet is, but it’s lost when the younger leans in to say, “I can see right through you, Louis Tomlinson.”

 

And if that’s what finally gets the tears to start, well, Louis’ sure Liam won’t hold it against him.

 

+

 

“’m sorry,” is the first thing Louis says to Niall’s back when he stumbles upon him juggling a football on stage in the empty, semi-darkness of their latest venue. They’re somewhere in Denmark, or at least they should be, going by the stadium listings from the last time Louis bothered to check. On tour, everything tends to bleed together. He thinks that might be part of the problem.

 

“Are yeh now?” Niall asks distractedly, flicking the ball up to balance on his thing before rolling it back down his leg and into the cradle at the top of his foot. Louis wants to toe the ball away so Niall will have no choice but to look at him, yet something tells him it’ll take more than that.

 

“Yes. I am,” Louis responds, trying to keep the huff of annoyance out of his voice. He doesn’t get to be haughty about this—he knows full well he has no right when this is a result of the wreckage he’s left behind.

 

“Okay,” Niall says, still juggling and Louis’ not sure if he heard correctly.

 

“Okay?” He repeats, slightly bewildered and Niall laughs before heading him the ball. Louis almost fumbles it, which makes Niall laugh harder.

 

“Okay.” The Irishman restates with a touch of faux exasperation before his features school themselves into something subtler, “Ya jus ‘afta promise me someth’n,” and Louis nods minutely.

 

“Ya got ta stop actin’ like yer in t’is alone.”

 

“What?” Louis stutters, composure forgotten along with the football as it drops from his hands and rolls away down stage. He’s taken an involuntary step forward at Niall’s words, because Louis has never— _not once_ —forgotten that he’s not in this on his own. The boys influence everything he does; have left their marks in fingerprint smudges across his skin and the gaps between the lines of his palms.

 

His mother joked once, early on, that the five of them were the definition of codependent and Louis didn’t really think anything of it until he noticed the shift in his mood when he hadn’t spoken to one of them for a couple days. Noticed the way he turns to tell Liam a dirty joke directly after he’s heard it, partly to see if he can still make him blush but mostly because Liam’s laugh is addictive; how when Zayn’s unreachable, he’ll leave countless voicemails and texts in varying degrees of exaggerated distress; that he can’t leave a clothing shop without picking up a new snapback or tank top for Niall, even if he knows it won't stop the other from continuing to steal theirs; how he knows Harry never locks the door to any house he’s staying at in case the boys stop by when he’s not in, despite the countless warnings from Paul about overzealous fans.

 

There are the quirks and eccentricities they never bothered to hide, swapped them instead, the same way they do clothes or headphones; facial expressions and phrases stolen as easily as the shared beds and morning cuppas.

 

Louis honestly can’t remember what his life looked like before it held the shape of the other four.

 

“I’m not,” Louis says, shaking his head vigorously, “Swear.” Niall studies him for a moment, eyes just a bit closed off and Louis hurts because he put that caution there. Caused Niall to second guess himself and the blind faith he’d always seemed to have in his oldest band mate.

 

“Coulda fool’d me,” Niall mutters after a beat and Louis feels frantic, skin too tight and too sensitive all at once and he wants to touch Niall, the same way he’d wanted to touch Zayn in the elevator, Liam on the roof and Harry in the hotel room, but he’s called so many shots lately and landed them here. So this one’s for Niall alone to make.

 

“Niall,” he says, the name thick in his mouth, choking him up, but Louis doesn’t get anything else out before the semi blonde is barreling into him, arms locked around Louis’ waist, the top of Niall’s head colliding with his chin hard enough to make the elder’s teeth clack together sharply.

 

“Tomlinson,” comes Niall’s muffled voice from somewhere near the hallow of Louis’ throat, “Yer simultaneously the best and worst thing ta happen ta me. Er any o’ us really. We just want ya to let us in sometimes. Ya don’t hafta carry things on yer own. Whole point o’ being in a bloody boy band innit?”

 

And it’s Louis’ turn to laugh. Half because he’s relieve and half because he doesn’t want to cry again, so he wraps his arms around Niall’s shoulders and squeezes. Ends up pressing his cheek to the side of the Irishman’s head and nodding with eyes tight shut.

 

“Thanks,” Louis whispers when Niall starts humming some stupid Bruno Mars song and Niall’s grin is bright when they pull apart.

 

“Shud up,” Niall responds, playfully shoving Louis away and dashing off to retrieve the forgotten football, “Prove yer worth in a bit o’ footy an’ maybe we’ll keep ya ‘round.”

 

Louis isn’t about to argue as he chases after Niall through the mostly empty arena in search of the others for a quick pick up game. Things are starting to fall back into place and Louis’ beginning to wonder why he ever doubted to begin with.

 

+

 

The thing is, the whole controversy does clear up. Sure there are the fans that rip up or burn tickets, diss them on Twitter and make a point to be as vocal as possible about their disapproval, but at the end of the day, Louis figures they’re better off. One Direction’s image has been pretty clean considering how short a time they’ve been around and surprisingly long for the fact that they’re a bunch of 20 something idiots.

 

And maybe that’s the point Louis was trying to prove; that the five of them aren’t perfect just because they sing well and look pretty in the flashbulbs. They’re simply boys who got tossed together on a whim and were expected to grow up into faultless men despite all the outside influences of fame. Louis likes to think they’ve done a pretty damn good job of it.

 

Decides the odds were _indeed_ completely worth the initial risk.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write this since the stupid video leaked, go figure I don't get around to it till soooo much later, I digress. So as you can see, I didn't address the use of the racial slur because 1) I'm lazy, 2) I have a lot of feelings around it that I didn't want to address here in this fic
> 
> Message me or whatever if you'd like to disagree or start a dialogue :D
> 
> www.juliangohome.tumblr.com


End file.
